12 Days of Sherlolly Drabbles
by darnedchild
Summary: A series of 200 word drabbles for the 2017 12 Days of Sherlolly.
1. Table of Contents

**Table of Contents**

 **Part 1** : **Table of Contents**

 **Part 2** : **Love Molly xxx** \- Day One – "Presents" submitted by whclocked

 **Part 3** : **I Saw Aunt Molly Kissing Santa Claus** \- Day Two - "Mistletoe" submitted by Anonymous

 **Part 4** : **Death By Poinsettia?** \- Day Three - "Poinsettia" submitted by heathera9

 **Part 5** : **Help a Girl Out?** \- Day Four – "Out/Help/Girl" submitted by mizjoely

 **Part 6** : **Chorus Elf Number Four** \- Day Five – "Elf" – the movie? – submitted by limajoro

 **Part 7** : **Her Lips, Her Mouth** \- Day Six – "Lipstick" submitted by Anonymous

 **Part 8** : **A New Year** \- Day Seven – "Fireworks" submitted by Anonymous

 **Part 9** : **Stretching Before Dinner** \- Day Eight – "Yoga" submitted by Anonymous

 **Part 10** : **Cinnamon Tea** \- Day Nine – "Cinnamon" submitted by saffysmom

 **Part 11** : **Facing a Ghost** \- Day Ten – "Photographs" submitted by Anonymous

 **Part 12** : **Can't Catch Me** \- Day Eleven – "Cookies/Biscuits" submitted by Anonymous

 **Part 13** : **Happy Birthday, Sherlock Holmes** \- Day Twelve – "Staircase" submitted by rewil


	2. Love Molly xxx

Day One – ("Presents" submitted by whclocked)

 **Love Molly xxx**

The package caught his eye, abandoned on the table in favour of another gift two days before. Immediately forgotten and ignored until now.

Red paper and a perfect gold bow.

The card mocked him

 **Dearest Sherlock**

 **Love Molly xxx**

 _Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment._

Shame kept his fingers from peeling off the wrapping paper. He knew whatever he would find inside had been chosen with care and foolish hopes. Hopes that he had shot down in a few brutal moments.

Sherlock told himself that he hesitated for Molly's sake. He had destroyed her in front of their ( _friends_ ) mutual acquaintances. Somehow opening the box, seeing the gift, deducing her thoughts . . . Surely it would be a betrayal? Hadn't he already embarrassed her enough?

John would have a field day if he knew how out of his depth Sherlock felt. Everyone at the party had looked at Molly in confusion, wondering what it was about her that had earned his thoughtless cruelty and his penitence in such a short span of time. He couldn't expose her to that scrutiny again.

 _Couldn't risk giving her hope._

Sherlock dropped the present into his dresser drawer and resolved to never mention it again.


	3. I Saw Aunt Molly Kissing Santa Claus

Day Two – ("Mistletoe" submitted by Anonymous)

 **I Saw Aunt Molly Kissing Santa Claus**

Rosie Watson had reached that age when she began to suspect there was something hinky about Santa Claus.

She'd shared her suspicions with Aunt Molly and Uncle Sherlock. Molly had stuttered and reassured her that Santa really did deliver toys on Christmas Eve. Sherlock had praised her for Observing and Deducing.

Later, she'd heard Daddy on the phone. "Fix it or I'll show you just how observant I can be. Shall I deduce why your coat was covered in cat hair when you waltzed into Baker Street yesterday morning?"

Rosie resolved to settle the issue on her own. Was Santa a jolly fat man with a magic sleigh, or (like her friend said) was it Daddy?

Molly put her to bed on Christmas Eve because Daddy had to help Sherlock. Rosie had planned to get up and wait for Santa at ten, but she heard Daddy's shower just after nine. She crept down the hall and froze at the sight of a tall man with a bushy white beard and a red suit kissing Aunt Molly under the mistletoe.

He winked at Rosie, put a finger to his lips, and slipped out the door.

Oddly, Santa had Uncle Sherlock's eyes.


	4. Death By Poinsettia?

Day Three – ("Poinsettia" submitted by heathera9)

 **Death By Poinsettia?**

"Euphorbia pulcherrima," Sherlock murmured as he ran his fingers through Molly's hair.

She lifted her head from where it had been resting on his chest to look at him. They'd been having a lie-in; just cuddling on the bed, softly trading ideas back and forth. "Poinsettia?" she asked, wanting to make sure they were talking about the same thing.

"Yep." He continued to play with her hair.

"Nope. It wouldn't work, it won't kill him. It's not actually poisonous, no matter what the urban legends say." Molly tilted her head into his hand, encouraging him to scratch her scalp. She practically purred when he did.

"It won't kill him, but it could make him wish it did. Accidental ingestion can come with some rather nasty side effects if we could get him to eat enough of it. It would be easy enough to slip the leaves into one of his salads. The problem would be finding a way to mask the taste without arousing his suspicions."

Molly shook her head. "Uh-uh. The game is 'Murder', not 'Ways to Make Mycroft Sick Up'. That's just cruel."

"But you're fine with plotting his murder?" Sherlock laughed. "You really are perfect, Molly Hooper."


	5. Help a Girl Out?

Day Four – ("Out/Help/Girl" submitted by mizjoely)

 **Help a Girl Out?**

"So, what do you say, Sherlock? Help a girl out?"

Sherlock blinked, the sound of his name enough to draw him out of his mind palace. Molly had been filling out paperwork when he'd arrived at Barts, and he'd settled in to reorganize a few things while he waited for her to finish. She must have been talking to him for awhile though, because she was clearly expecting some sort of response from him. "Pardon?"

"Barts Christmas do? Dinner and dancing?"

He shouldn't have been surprised, it had been obvious that Molly had a crush on him for months even though he had gone to pains to pretend not to notice. He had thought she'd given up after the coffee thing. "I'm, uh, flattered but-"

"What? Oh God, no." Molly shook her head with a nervous giggle. "I think you misunderstood me, I was asking if you'd be willing to meet Jonathan in X-Rays. Maybe let me know if he's got a secret wife or a boyfriend he never talks about?"

He should feel relieved, shouldn't he? So why didn't he? Why did he suddenly want to dig up every dirty secret this Jonathan had? "Yeah, I can do that."


	6. Chorus Elf Number Four

Day Five – ("Elf" – submitted by limajoro)

 **Chorus Elf Number Four**

"Oh my goodness, isn't she the cutest thing you have ever seen?" Mrs Hudson cooed at the sight of little Rosie Watson awkwardly pirouetting across the small stage in a green and red tutu.

Rosie wobbled and very nearly knocked over one of the other dancing elves. "Adorable," Sherlock drawled. "I still don't understand why I-"

Molly nudged his shin with her foot and he stopped talking. She leaned into his arm, causing the uncomfortable plastic chair she was sitting on to creak ominously. "Because this is her first ballet recital and none of us would dare miss it."

"Speak for yourself," Sherlock whispered back. "I only agreed to come because John promised there would be cake after."

Molly rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the stage, but he noticed that she was smiling.

Perhaps, after celebrating Rosie's theatrical debut as chorus elf number four, he would offer to walk Molly home. He rather liked the thought of spending the rest of the evening in her company.

Rosie performed a mighty leap that took her, at most, two centimetres off the ground and Molly grabbed his hand in excitement.

Sherlock took it again on the walk back.


	7. Her Lips, Her Mouth

Day Six – ("Lipstick" submitted by Anonymous)

 **Her Lips, Her Mouth**

No dark, dramatic hues for her. No purple or burgundy or deep blood red.

No bright pink or obnoxiously vivid blue or green better suited to a younger generation.

Her pink is softer, feminine. Making her look youthful, but not too young. Fresh. Innocent.

She favours coral and beige. Colours that are natural. Neutral. Even with her off-beat, eye-sore clothing, she still has a tendency to deliberately blend into the background. Always there, always reassuring; but forgotten when one thinks back on a moment.

Forgotten by all but him, he sometimes thinks. He never forgets. Never deletes a second of her.

Never.

Unbidden, the memory of the one and only time he saw her in red lipstick surfaces. Wet and shiny, meant to draw the eye.

His eye.

Meant to make him think things he shouldn't. Picture things that were forbidden. Her lips under his. The bright red pigment smeared across her mouth. Visible proof that he'd done the unthinkable and given into a crude, baser need.

He regrets many things from that Christmas. The hardest to forgive is the hurt in her eyes and the tremble of those red, red lips.

He will spend years thinking of those lips.


	8. A New Year

Day Seven – ("Fireworks" submitted by Anonymous)

 **A New Year**

The gunshot pulled him from his mind palace at breakneck speed. A vision of Mary, broken and bleeding from the bullet that had been meant for him, flashed through his brain even as he opened his eyes.

He rolled off the sofa and to his feet in a heartbeat, eyes instinctively searching for and finding Molly standing at her sitting room window.

"Fireworks," Molly offered without turning around. "It's midnight. Happy New Year."

That explained the sound that had roused him and the echoing pops. He moved to her side and followed her line of sight to the bursts of light in the dark sky.

"If you stand just here, you can just see some of the larger ones over the rooftops." She sighed, and he thought it was a bit wistful.

"We'll put it on the list for the new place. Fireworks, large kitchen, shed in the garden for experiments." Sherlock put his arm around her shoulders. "To a new year together."

"A new year, and a new life."

His gaze dropped to the hand protectively cradled against her stomach as her meaning sunk in. "All ready?"

"Are you happy?" she asked, as if there were any doubt.

"Indescribably."


	9. Stretching Before Dinner

Day Eight – ("Yoga" submitted by Anonymous)

 **Stretching Before Dinner**

"Hello? I just-What the hell, Sherlock?" John covered his eyes with one hand and groped his way toward the yellow chair in the corner with the other. Once he was seated, he peeked through his fingers.

Molly peered around Sherlock's thigh, her hands still firmly planted on the ground and her bum up in the air. "Hi, John!"

Sherlock had been in a similar position when John arrived, but now he was standing and glaring.

"Are we playing Twister?" John lowered his hand so Sherlock could fully appreciate his smirk.

"Yoga," Sherlock bit out.

Molly gracefully rolled to her feet. "I told Sherlock my New Year's resolution was to stop skiving off on my yoga, and he volunteered to help keep me honest." She wiped the sweat off her forehead with a grimace. "I need some water."

Sherlock waited until she was in the kitchen to turn on John. "Leave."

"No chance. I want to see this."

"I'm going to ask her to have dinner with me," Sherlock hissed. "Dinner dinner."

John blinked. That was unexpected. "Pardon?"

"He means sex," Molly cheerfully translated.

Both men turned to stare at her.

"Seriously, get out." Sherlock abandoned John without a backward glance.


	10. Cinnamon Tea

Day Nine – ("Cinnamon" submitted by saffysmom)

 **Cinnamon Tea**

"The bathroom's all yours." Sherlock's smile disappeared at the sight of John sitting at the kitchen table. "Where's Molly?"

"She went down to ask Mrs Hudson for honey." John leaned back and folded his arms. "This is very domestic. Molly making tea, wearing your dressing gown, spending the night."

"She was here when the snow started, seemed prudent to suggest she stay until it was safe to travel again." Sherlock frowned as he looked through the kitchen window at the melting snow.

Molly appeared holding a small jar. "No honey, I'm afraid. But she had cinnamon sticks, and now I'm craving cinnamon tea. Do you want a cuppa, John?" She moved to the sink to fill the kettle. "How are the streets, are they all clear?"

The slump of her shoulders and Sherlock's wistful expression as he looked at Molly meant John could do only one thing. He lied. "I would say clearing, but still a lot of nasty spots. I wouldn't chance going out if you don't absolutely need to be anywhere just yet."

Molly brightened and John swore he saw Sherlock mouth "thank you".

The scent of cinnamon filled the air as Molly poured three cups of tea.


	11. Facing a Ghost

Day Ten – ("Photographs" submitted by Anonymous)

 **Facing A Ghost**

"Are you sure?" Violet Holmes cradled the worn scrapbook to her chest.

Sherlock looked to Molly and she nodded. She reached for his hand as Violet set the book down on the kitchen table. Despite what she'd told Sherlock when he'd asked her to come along on his Boxing Day visit to his parents, she wasn't absolutely certain she was quite ready to have the faceless spectre of Eurus Holmes humanized with childhood stories and photos.

The tight crush of Sherlock's fingers around hers told her that Sherlock was experiencing the same unspoken doubts.

"These are all that survived the fire. And then, with everything, Rudy said it would be best to hide them away," Violet already sounded defensive.

Sherlock put his free hand over his mothers. "You don't have to hide her anymore."

Violet opened the book and flipped to the middle.

Three young faces looked back at Molly.

Mycroft was virtually unrecognizable except for the protective way he stood over his siblings as they played in the leaves.

The girl was pretty, but her eyes were cold.

Only Sherlock was familiar, with his wild curls and shy, impish smile.

He squeezed her hand again, then turned the page.


	12. Can't Catch Me

Day Eleven – ("Cookies/Biscuits" submitted by Anonymous)

 **Can't Catch Me**

Molly continued to knead the dough for the next batch of biscuits and listened while Mrs Hudson and Sherlock helped Rosie decorate her precariously balanced gingerbread house. Somehow the conversation had shifted from favourite recipes to one of his old cases.

"Once I found-"

Molly cleared her throat, interrupting him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and jammed a gumdrop onto the gingerbread roof. "Once _your father_ found biscuit crumbs in the victim's-"

Molly started coughing loudly—cutting him off again—as Mrs Hudson rebuked him with a sharp, "Little ears, Sherlock!"

" _On_ the victim," he corrected himself with a huff. He tossed a peppermint into his mouth and pushed it into his cheek with his tongue so he could continue speaking. "Once we had the biscuit crumbs, it was obvious the kill, erm, culprit was the victim's . . . special friend, the baker."

John was going to kill them all as soon as he found out what sort of stories Sherlock had been telling his eight-year-old. The gingerbread crime scene tableau wasn't going to win them any points, either.

Rosie reached out and tugged on his sleeve. "Uncle Sherlock? Aunt Molly makes your favourite gingernut biscuits. Does that make her your special friend?"


	13. Happy Birthday, Sherlock Holmes

Day Twelve – ("Staircase" submitted by rewil)

 **Happy Birthday, Sherlock Holmes**

The year before he had celebrated his birthday with a barely touched piece of cake in a busy shop and a softly whispered "Happy birthday, Sherlock Holmes" from Molly just after she'd ordered him off to bed and settled in for another long night of babysitting the recovering addict.

So much had changed since then.

He found himself hesitating at the bottom of the staircase leading up to his rooms, knowing that the unnatural stillness above meant people intent on surprising him with a party.

He could back out, silently slip through the front door and spend the night elsewhere. Anywhere.

His parents would be up there. Probably Mycroft, just long enough to appease Mummy. Not Lady Smallwood, Mycroft took great pains to keep her far away from his family.

There would be Lestrade and possibly a few other detectives who asked for his help on occasion. Mrs Hudson. John and Rosie.

Molly.

She'd have a gift this year. Something inexpensive but heartfelt, offered after everyone else had gone.

Another softly whispered "Happy birthday, Sherlock Holmes."

Only this time, when he went to bed, he wouldn't be alone.

He climbed the staircase and immediately sought out the woman he loved.


End file.
